


past lives

by dancingthru



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:53:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingthru/pseuds/dancingthru
Summary: "I've got the strangest feeling this isn't our first time around."christen and tobin spend lifetimes falling together and apart





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for awhile and finally had time to try to execute it. Please let me know what you think! I know it might be a little confusing right now, but everything will come together in the ensuing chapters!

_Past lives couldn't ever hold me down_  
_Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found_  
_I've got the strangest feeling_  
_This isn't our first time around_

_Past lives couldn't ever come between us_  
_Sometimes the dreamers finally wake up_  
_Don't wake me I'm not dreaming_

***

_1808, virginia_

The light in the garden is soft in the twilight.

Annalisa tugs at the heel of one shoe, finally dislodging it from her foot and pressing her toes into the silky muck of the freshly wet ground. She balances on her bare foot, sticking out a hand to grasp the brick of the wall separating the rhododendrons from the lilies.

“Is there any reason you needed me out here for this, miss?” Shannon’s voice is more amused than anything as she follows several paces behind, watching Annalisa with a slight smile as the younger girl shoved her toes even deeper into the mud.

“Take your shoes off,” Annalisa said, turning with an impish grin. “I need someone to help me think.”

Shannon shook her head, leaning down to pull off her own shoes even as her lips formed the start of an argument.

“And somehow, I’m assisting that process by playing around in the mud with you?” Annalisa rolled her eyes in response, dragging one toe to trace out an ‘A’ in the muck.

“You know, I’ve heard that most families can find help that doesn’t talk back half as much as you,” she murmured, her smile dragging the corners of her mouth upwards even further. “Perhaps I should ask Mother about that?”

“Think away, miss.” Shannon placed her shoes next to Annalisa’s, straying closer to bump their shoulders together slightly. “I do love my job.”

They sink into silence, as they often do. The sun is sinking low along the horizon, fat and heavy in the early summer heat. Earlier in the day, the sunlight seemed to burn everything it touched; now, it's warm and thick, wrapping them both in a blanket of sleepy delirium that comes with every summer night. Shannon isn't sure there's anywhere she likes being more than this place, with bees hovering around the soft purple and yellow heads of Annalisa's flowers, her voice humming soft and sweet nonsense as she wanders through her grounds and her thoughts. 

The girl is lovely in all her quiet ways, especially at times like this when she feels as if absolutely no one in the world is watching her. Shannon had painstakingly pinned Annalisa's hair up early in the morning, but now it is all falling apart, small strands framing her face as she tips her head to the side, gnawing slightly at her bottom lip.

"You look concerned, miss." Shannon studies her face more closely. "What's weighing on you?"

Annalisa lets out a soft sigh. The sound is timid, fluttering in and out of her chest. She's quiet, a thinker, deft in the art of crafting a coy sort of charisma that beguiles and delights most who meet her. But she's not one to share her thoughts, especially in moments like this when the silence is so gentle and beautiful. She reaches out, winding their fingers together. 

In all technicalities, Shannon is hired help, filling a role that ranges between a maid and a housekeeper but that mainly focuses on the sole responsibility of keeping a precocious and wealthy only child such as Annalisa as happy as possible. For now, that means holding her hand in the fading light of the evening and waiting until she puts words to whatever she is feeling.

"I'm to be married, you know." Annalisa's voice is soft, and it cracks slightly between the first and second syllables of the word 'married' as her grip tightens, almost imperceptibly, on Shannon's hand. "I'm sure Mother and Father filled you in on all of the details."

"They did." Shannon knocks their shoulders together again. "I hear he's quite handsome."

Annalisa laughs, and she considers her job well done already. Once a smile is pulling at her features, it's hard to bring Annalisa back down again.

"He's quite rich, is what he is," she says, voice warm with laughter. "Owns enough land to be lost on twice over. I'm to go see it next Saturday, if the weather holds true."

"Doesn't take much for you," Shannon said, her voice echoing her laughter. "All offense intended, miss. With all due respect."

"I'll tell Father to be rid of you before you know it, Shannon, I swear to it," Annalisa shot back, but she smiled through her threat. Their hands remained laced together. "But yes, he is very handsome."

The silence returns, and Shannon lets it be. She can tell that Annalisa is holding back, that there's something more to be told here. Annalisa doesn't say anything, but she tugs Shannon further down the path. They clean their feet in the taller grass as they match each other's strides down the hillside towards the stream that criss crosses the east end of the estate.

"He's much older." Her voice is quiet again as they dip their feet into the clear water.

"How much?" The lack of an answer is indicative of exactly how Annalisa feels. "Age doesn't have to be a barrier, miss. You can be a great wife no matter when he was born."

The silence weights even heavier now, and Shannon curses herself for attempting to help. There's only so much she can understand of this world of birthed privilege and arranged marriage, and only so much advice that she can give to a young woman in this mess.

"I don't know how to be a wife," Annalisa whispers. She sits, dangling her feet deeper into the stream and digging her fingers into the grass. "I don't know the first thing about how to be a proper wife and it terrifies me, it really does."

"You can't say that now." Shannon kneels next to Annalisa, reaching up to remove one of the pins from her hair. The girl smiles slightly, leaning her head back into Shannon's hands. She runs her fingers through her hair, playing with the thick strands as she tugs them lightly from their pinnings. "I've not done my job at all if you don't know a thing or two at this point, isn't that right?"

"Well I am always tempted to send you packing." Annalisa hums in the back of her throat as Tobin presses her fingers into the base of her scalp, soothing away the tension laced in the tendons of her shoulders. "Perhaps I should do so now, since I'm so utterly hopeless."

Shannon smiles down at the top of her head. She knew that Annalisa couldn't see her, and she was thankful for this. Sometimes she is embarrassed at her fondness for the girl, who is only a few years her junior and yet so much younger in her sheltered privilege. 

"Miss, with all due respect, I do think you'd be lost without me." Annalisa doesn't respond, just leans herself even further into Shannon, until her weight is pressed gently into her side.

"Isn't that so."

They spend the rest of the sunlight in silence, watching the sun sink from the sky.

***

_1865, birmingham, alabama_

"Wait!"

Emily sprinted down the hillside, huffing slightly as she held tightly to the stones in her hands. Ahead of her, a head of thick brown hair bobbed through the reeds ahead of her.

"Slow down, I said!"

She sped up, feet slamming hard into the grassy ground as she chased after the taller girl. She dove into the tall grass, tripping and almost tumbling as she struggled to find her footing. She lost sight of the taller girl for a moment, but then she saw a flash of red ahead of her and she threw herself towards it.

Finally, she burst out of the tall grass into a clearing to see Hannah lying flat on her back in her red dress, smiling calmly as she stretched out, arms behind her head in a perfect picture of contentment.

"What took you so long?" Her voice was thick with amusement as she patted the ground next to her. Emily sat, lying back, her feet by Hannah's head as she tipped her head back to watch the clouds. Her chest rose and fell heavily, breath ragged.

"Gee, you are fast."

"Nah, you're just slow."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"And short too."

Emily turned on her side, shooting a glare at Hannah.

"I'm just younger than you." Hannah shrugged, smiling as she pulled an apple out of her bag. "Can't help that."

"Doesn't mean you ain't slow."

"I'll get faster."

"Maybe."

"I'll get taller, too."

"Maybe."

"You're mean."

"Yeah"

Hannah bit into the apple and the juice ran down her arm. Annalisa laughed, watching as it made its way down to her elbow. She rolled back, staring up at the sea of blue and white.

"That one looks like an elephant."

Hannah hummed her approval.

"Squirrel."

"Where?"

"There."

"Where."

Hannah pointed, and Emily nodded.

"Looks a bit like ice cream."

"You're just hungry."

They laid in silence, the only sound that of the wind rushing through the grass and the crunching of Hannah's apple. 

"You ever think what life would be like if we were up there?"

Hannah's voice was far off, as it often got when she was thinking too hard for a 10-year-old.

"Nah." Emily looked down, tracing Hannah's face with her eyes. "I don't like to think about life anywhere else but here."

Hannah met her eyes with a smile, and she reached down, lacing their hands.

"Me either."

***

_1918, kansas city_

The station is quiet in the early morning light. Hannah rubs her hands against the fabric of her skirt, checking her ticket stub and then the clock again. 8:47. Still ten minutes to go. She unfolds her newspaper, then folds it again. Checks her purse, tugs at her collar. Rubs her hands across her skirt again. She's on time. She knows it. But the eerie silence of Union Station has her on edge. Time hasn't always been on her side.

Minutes later, the train rumbles into the station, tremors shaking the ground beneath her. Hannah rises slowly, feeling the cold of the winter in every bone. The snow piled high and early this winter, which is why she's leaving today, escaping far away to somewhere west and warm that won't make her body rebel quite so painfully. She moves to her coach slowly, smiling at the conductor aimlessly watching the small crowd pile into the train.

Hannah picks a window seat, anxious to watch the land fall away behind her. She's pulls out her paper and a small bag of candies, settling both on her lap.

"Mind if we sit?"

A young woman is hanging onto the door of her coach. Her left hand is attached to a small girl with long brown hair, smiling shyly up at Hannah. For a moment, she pauses — those eyes are like a breath taken from a different lifetime — before smiling back.

"Of course."

The girl and her mother file in, piling onto the seats across from Hannah. They speak in the way that mothers and daughters do, all hushed tones and shared glances that aren't quite comprehendible for anyone outside of their shared world. After a moment, they seem to settle in, both with books in hand, although the girl's is a good deal smaller and the text seems to be printed much larger. The girl is studious in the way that she reads, and Hannah finds it hard to look away, fascinated by the familiarity of her eyes and the way her hair kept falling in the way, hands reaching up to sweep it back.

She tears her eyes away from the pair finally, setting her gaze back onto her newspaper and carefully thumbing through the pages. Just as she settled on page four, a voice snapped her head back up.

"Have you ever heard of India?"

The eyes looking up at her across the aisle are somber, serious. She wants to smile, but she recognizes that gaze. It's not the type to laugh at.

"Yes, I have." She smiles. "It's a beautiful country, from what I hear."

"I'm reading this." The girl holds up a book of Rudyard Kipling. "It's about India."

"Do you like it?" She earns an eager nod in response, and then the girl is crossing the aisle and sitting down next to her.

"Can I read to you?" She lifts her chin to look at Hannah, and her heart catches for a moment. "Mother says I'm a sharp reader."

"I'm sure you are." Hannah smiles down at her.

"My name's Charlotte." She sticks out a hand and Hannah takes it.

"I'm Hannah." They shake hands, and Hannah watches in fascination as the girl opens the book. "You know, you remind me of a friend of mine."

Charlotte grins back up at her, clearly pleased.

"Is she nice?"

Hannah looks away, watching the landscape melt away out the window.

"Yeah, she was." Charlotte nods, her smile widening. "The best kind of friend you can ask for."

There's silence for a moment, and then Charlotte clears her throat.

"I'm going to read now." She clears her throat again, and the pages rustle together. "This is the story of the great war that Rikkitikki-tavi fought single-handed..."

Hannah closes her eyes and lets the sound of Charlotte's voice drown the world out.

***

_1941, zion, illinois_

The radio fritzed out again just as Grace got to working on the sink. It had been clogged the week before, and even though Joe from down the street had fixed it up a few days ago, it still seemed to be spitting out water with no sense of regularity. She'd just stuck her head under the sink, wielding a wrench vaguely in hopes of seeing an obvious fix, when the radio cut out.

Grace sat up to see what was wrong, and in the process slammed the crown of her head into the counter.

"God—" she spat out. "Damn it!" 

With a grunt, Grace dropped the wrench and sat up fully. She dropped her hands into her lap, staring around at the dirty kitchen floor, the pile of dishes still to be washed, the water dripping lightly from the faucet. 

When Paul was here, she kept the house tidy, kept everything neat. He loved it. Every time he came home, he cracked a smile, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, surveying the light blue walls, the short white curtains, breathing in the smell of dinner cooking.

"Now this is something a man can get used to coming home to," he would say, and he would wrap her up around the waist, pressing kisses to her face and her neck until she squealed and pretended to push him away. He'd been like that since they were young, since he was chasing her around their school yards. She always told him that he was like a too-bright light, because he filled every room he walked into and because now the rooms of their home feel a little empty and a little dark.

Grace leans her head back against the cabinet. She can't do this today. She can't break down. She promised that she'd be tough, that she'd show as much strength in her daily life as he did when he boarded that train in his stiff uniform with his smile blazing. She closes her eyes. She can't do this today.

"Hello?" She jerks upwards at the sound of the voice. A woman in a yellow dress is peering through the screen door, her eyes wide. She holds a pan in one hand, tucked close to her body, and scrapes her thick hair out of her eyes with the other. "Hi, sorry— um, Grace?"

"Hi." Grace scrambles to her feet, flushing. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm a wreck—"

"No, you're good." The woman flashed a smile, the type of dazzling smile that stops men on their feet. "I didn't mean to surprise you, I just thought I'd come over because Robert— my husband was deployed with Paul. And I figured you could use some company and—" she gestured the pan "—something to eat? I'm just going crazy in my house and—"

"No, please, please come in." Grace ushered her inside, partially because of how lost the girl looked and mostly because another voice made the house feel at home. "I didn't catch your name?"

"Rebekah." She flashed that same smile again, all movie star sparkle as she moved to sit down at the kitchen table, setting down the casserole dish. "We only moved into the area a few months ago, I should've come by earlier but it's just all been so..."

Grace smiled, watching her eyes go soft as she trailed off.

"Crazy." Rebekah's head snapped up, and Grace gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's crazy. All of this."

"Yeah." She shook her head. "Crazy."

They both jumped at the sound of dogs barking, and Grace jumped to her feet.

"Sorry, just a second." She rounded the corner, opening the back door to let in two black labs. The dogs flew past her ankles, leaping up onto Rebekah, who grinned wide as she scratched both of their heads. "Lord, I'm so sorry, they're a bit of a handful."

"What are their names?" The dogs seemed attracted to Rebekah as if by magnets, and she smiled as she dug her fingers into their coats.

"Anna and Shannon." They tilted their heads up expectantly at the sound of their names. "It's after, I don't know, I think it's a story I read when I was little or something. Paul got them both but he let me name them. Said I'm the best at that kind of thing."

"I like it." Rebekah smiled up at her, and Grace felt her heart slow down a little. "It fits."

For a moment, they admired the dogs it silence. Finally, Grace stood.

"I'll put on some coffee." She looked over her smile. "Why don't you stay awhile?"

Grace flashed that smile again.

"Sounds good to me."

***  
_2008, los angeles, california_

The locker room feels damp. It's not humid in California — it's never humid in California, not ever — but the air in the locker room is thick and heavy. Christen hates it. It's adding to the way her hands are shaking, the way her lungs ache. She tries to ignore it, tries to push the breath in and out of her lungs, but it's _hard_

"Hey." She looks up and meets the easy smile of one of the more experienced girls, tall and lanky. She's one of Alex Morgan's friends — that's the easiest way to recognize her — and Christen sucks in a quick breath. "I don't think we've met yet."

"Christen." She sticks out one hand, and the girl looks as if she's holding back a laugh.

"Tobin Heath." She shakes Christen's hand with a smirk. "You don't have to be so formal, you know. You're part of the team now."

"Not officially," Christen grits out, and Tobin tips her head, studying her curiously. 

"You play at Stanford, yeah?" She smiles, a look of understanding passing across her face when Christen nods in response. "Okay, I know who you are. Kelley talks about you a bunch."

Christen laughs, and it's unexpected. Even more unexpected is the wide grin that her laugh earns from Tobin, the way her grin cuts across her face in a sloppy curve.

"I don't even want to know what she says," Christen mutters, standing and stretching an arm behind her head.

"All good things." Tobin gives her another smile, this time softer. "I promise."

Alex walks by now, and Christen shrinks a little as the forward tosses a smile over her shoulder to Tobin.

"Hey, let's go." Tobin turns to follow her friend, and Alex affords Christen the same smile. "New kid, too. Let's get a move on."

For the rest of practice, Tobin is in her peripheral. She's incredible — that's not hard at all to see, not when she dances with the ball like she was born with it at her feet — but it's something else, something in the way she smiles all crooked at Alex when they don't quite connect on a cross, the way she shakes her head at Alyssa when she bats away a ball one handed. Christen watches Tobin with something mixed between curiosity and fascination, and on the off chance that Tobin catches her looking, she doesn't glance away.

Tobin finds her again after practice, when Christen is stretching her hamstrings out on the sidelines.

"Hey newbie." She props her foot up on the bench next to Christen, tugging at her shoelaces. "Nice practice today."

"Not really." Christen shrugs. She hadn't done anything wrong, but it had been an underwhelming day on the pitch, without enough connections or finishes to stand out among the crew of strikers she's supposed to compete with.

"That's okay." Tobin pulls off her shoe, then her sock, then switches to the other foot. "First one is all about the nerves. You survived, you didn't cry. You'll be great the next time around."

Christen smiles for a second, then glances down in surprise at Tobin's bare feet and lack of sandals.

"Are you going barefoot back?" She scrunches up her face. "It's, like, really muddy."

Tobin digs her toes into the mud, smiling.

"I don't mind." She reaches out a hand, offering to pull Christen to her feet. "Come on, they always have a great dinner on the first night of camp."

They walk back together in a silence that's almost comfortable.

The light on the field is soft in the twilight.


	2. beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this update took so long! Thank you guys so much for reading, it means a lot to receive so much positive feedback.

__

_"And time goes by, so slowly and time_  
_Can do so much, are you still mine?_  
_I need your love,_  
_I oh I need your love,  
_ _God speed your love to me."_

__

unchained melody // the righteous brothers

***

_1808, virginia_

Annalisa tries not to watch too closely as Shannon sets the table with steady hands, sliding the fine supper plates into their places in front of her mother and father.

“Thank you Shannon,” her mother murmurs, offering up a soft smile, and Shannon smiles back without restraint. She’s always acted this way with the family, even from her first days — natural, confident, that sloppy smile splitting her features in two as she moved between the three members of the small family as if she was the missing fourth piece of their puzzle.

Supper tonight is decadent, as it always is on Saturday nights. Annalisa's father feels it necessary, particularly at the end of a long and eventful week such as this, to take small moments to celebrate in whatever manner they are able to afford. Their family's wealth is modest at best, particularly in comparison of the estates facing their lands to the north and the south, yet they insist upon taking small moments of luxury to remember where they came from and how much further they have to go.

Annalisa doesn't remember much of the childhood in which they were poor. She's heard enough stories told to friends and visitors and suitors — the sudden berth of previously unknown familial wealth, the handful of intelligent loans, a patch of land to call their own and hours of unyielding toil under the Virginia sun. It's a story that's been retold one too many times, each repetition adding a new layer, a new detail, a new remembrance that might or might not stray further or closer to the truth.

Yet underneath it all is an earnest belief in this idea of a simple victory, that a man who came from the very depths of nothing could, perhaps, find success, even and especially in a place like Virginia. He tells it often, at the social events which have become a staple of their lives in a new strata of public company that before was simply a far-off notion of an alien way of life. 

Annalisa loves these events, loves the gluttony of the costuming and the makeup and the food, the gallant manner of every boy who approaches her with overly formal poise and the easy frivolity of the conversation. None of it feels real — it feels like a fairy tale, as if she stepped into the pages of the books she grew up reading.

She doesn't remember the poverty, but she remembers the in-between, the uncertainty of their future as they grew in wealth and rank and notoriety. Her mother began to wear more colors, and when she came home with two new dresses — one red and the other blue — specially cut to fit Annalisa, that was the day that she knew she could trust the next day, and the next one after that.

Still, she cherishes these suppers. They are a signal of an future that is always sloped upwards and a family, her family, which has stayed so fervently anchored to one another.

They had always been tight-knit, almost shockingly close to one another. Which was why it was surprising how simply and wonderfully Shannon slipped in, at the age of 13, to become akin to a second daughter. Annalisa's father always joked gently that if Shannon were a boy, he'd have already called for their marriage so he could fully call her one of his own. Shannon would always smile at this, shy and soft, but her eyes always found Annalisa's, sometimes glittering with amusement, other times dark and serious in their clarity. 

Annalisa didn't bother with jokes; she told Annalisa that they were family. It was true.

"Shannon, how is the family business doing?" Her father gestures for her to sit, in her customary spot aside Annalisa. Their elbows brush as she sits, and Annalisa smiles softly, reaching out to press the pads of her fingers lightly into Shannon's arm. "You said your father was looking to invest?"

"Actually, he's looking to sell." Shannon smiles. "Father held back before regarding our success, but he's made it clear to the oldest of us that the business has been flourishing enough that we might actually be done with it soon."

"A little amusing, isn't it?" Annalisa nudges Shannon again, joking mainly to earn a soft glance and smile her way. "You get rid of the thing the second it's doing well."

"Well, miss, not all of us love the city as much as you." She can feel Shannon's eyes on her, even as she turns to her plate to stab at a piece of roasted potato. "I'm personally looking forward to getting some land in our family's name."

"That's still the plan?" Annalisa's father nods, his face turning thoughtful. "And your father plans to set off on his own?"

Shannon shakes her head, and Annalisa watches with a gentle fondness as her features shift into this certain brand of focus — jaw tense, eyes serious. She stays quiet as the two discuss the family's plans to begin share cropping within the next two years.

"Well, however this falls into place, your father should know that we are always here for assistance." Annalisa's mother is a fierce woman, made up of hard edges and sharp words, and she often intimidates those who can't see the softness under her exterior. She is especially soft for her girls — which is what she called them, as if she had raised both — and especially so for Shannon. "I just hope it means we won't lose you back to your family."

"Of course not." Shannon's smile is soft in return. “I'll need to ask leave to return home on the weekends to take care of the numbers and other manners of organization that my father never had the schooling for, but besides that I reckon that he and the boys will have the rest of it under control."

"Besides—" Her gaze returns to Annalisa, and she feels rather than sees the smirk coloring her features. "The house will be a good deal quieter once this one is a married woman, won't it?"

That earns laughter from the whole household, and all eyes turn to Annalisa, who chooses the moment to look anywhere, absolutely _anywhere_ , but at Shannon.

"So I hear this man you are to marry is quite handsome?" Shannon practically coos, and Annalisa hears, beneath the jest, the lightest strain of bitterness.

"Oh he won't be disappointing in that aspect." Her mother's smile is coy, teasing. "Or in most aspects, if your father's reports of his wealth aren't braggart."

He lets out a slight chuff of displeasure in response, shooting his wife a glare that lacks any sort of malice.

"He's a good man, that's what counts," he says. "And he would like for you and I to come to his estate, Annalisa, two nights from now."

The words feel like the shock of ice water, sending a slight shiver from the base of her scalp down her spine. She had known this day would come eventually, in the sense that many things would come — a wedding, children, a family of her own. Yet until this moment, the idea of some handsome, wealthy suitor ready to whisk her away had felt vague, almost as if it was a fairy tale that they were telling themselves to pass the time.

"I'm looking forward to it," she mumbles, but her voice wavers just long enough to betray the emotion beneath it.

"We'll send Shannon with you, as well," her mother says gently. "For company, and for help when you might need it."

Shannon sits up a little straighter, her duty to Annalisa and to the family filling her with a slight swell of pride.

"I've got you," she murmurs, and her hand finds Annalisa's wrist under the table, pressing gently for a moment. Annalisa's sighs, forcing her breath in and out. When she glances to her right, Shannon is smiling, her eyes fixed on her, and for the moment, at least, everything feels alright.

***

_1865, birmingham, alabama_

There's ice cream dripping down Hannah's arm as she strolls up to the front of the little white house. On the porch, Emily lays on her back, tossing a ball skyward and catching it on its path back down to the ground. She tips her chin back, surveying Hannah and the cone in her hand before rolling over onto her belly.

"Where'd ya get that?"

Hannah shrugs, then takes another lick.

"A man down the street. Set up a little shop. Said it's the last bit of summer so we should get it while we can."

Emily rolls back over, tossing the ball again.

"That's stupid. Summer's gonna last a lot longer."

Hannah walks over to stand next to her, licking at the chocolate coating her arm in a fruitless attempt to clean up the muck.

"Well I guess half the town don't know that because they're all down there paying for it."

She flops onto her back, watching the ball on its parabola up into the air and back down into Emily's hands. On the sixth toss, she reaches out quick hand for an interception, but Emily is too fast, snatching the rubber out of mid-air before Hannah even has a chance.

"Not fair."

"Your hands are disgusting."

Emily responds by shoving her hands into Hannah's face, and the younger girl squeals, rolling away and onto her feet and off the porch.

"Stay away from me."

"Let me hold the ball."

"No."

"Okay."

She takes off down the porch steps, and Hannah swerves away, dodging her arms again before turning towards the back of the house. A quick hop over a row of flowers gets her into the backyard, but Emily is faster and taller, and she wraps Hannah up from behind, her hands smearing light stains of chocolate all across her torso.

"Stop. Stop!"

Emily wrestles her to the ground, and they both roll back, panting.

"It's no fair."

"What's no fair?"

"You're just older. When I'm as old as you, I'll be just as fast."

"I'll be older then too, though." Emily rolls over, a grin painting her features. "So I'll be even faster."

Hannah lets out a groan, covering her eyes with her arm. After a moment, Emily pokes her arm.

"You'll be fast too."

Hannah grins.

"You think?"

"Yeah." Emily pauses, then nods. "Faster than those other girls at school at least."

Hannah shrugs.

"Who cares about them."

"You do."

"I do not."

"Do too."

"You always say that but you do. That's why you complain about them so much."

Hannah doesn't respond to that, just huffs and crosses her arms.

"You shouldn't care about them."

They're quiet then, Emily gnawing at her lip as she tries to find the right words, Hannah covering her face as she tries to hold back her own words. They sink into silence, as they often do, eyes fixing on the sky above, the clouds moving faster than they could ever run.

***

_1918, kansas city_

"Can I see that?"

Hannah is jerked out of a half-sleep by Charlotte's voice, soft at her elbow. The girl paws tentatively at her arm, and Hannah hastily wipes the sleep out of her eyes, blinking away memories of too-tall grass and warm summer nights.

"See what?"

The girl's eyes are fixed on the coin in her hand, worn so smooth over the years that its face almost completely flat. She palms the quarter, holding it out towards Charlotte and letting her look for a moment.

"This?" Charlotte nods, and she hands it over, eyes fixed on the small fingers as they toy with the coin. "Careful with it, that's my good luck quarter."

The girl rubs her thumb over the smooth metal, outlining the faint carving of Lady Liberty that had long since been worn down.

"Why's it lucky?” Her brow is furrowed, teeth gnawing lightly at her lip as she studies the smooth edges where most coins are crimped. “It just looks old.”

“It is old,” Hannah says. “Older than you are, for sure. Someone very special gave it to me.”

Charlotte looks up, handing the coin back delicately with the fingers of a child who understands the importance of luck.

“You better keep it safe then.”

Hannah watches the girl as she curls her legs, long and lanky, up to her chest, wrapping them in her arms. She smiles.

“Yes, I better.”

***  
_1941, zion, illinois_

“This heat—“ Rebekah groans as she lowers herself into the porch swing next to Grace. “It’s going to kill me. I swear to God it will.”

“You’re overdramatic,” Grace murmurs, turning the page of her book. Her brow is furrowed, and beads of sweat gather in the creases. “Besides, you know that complaining won’t do nothing to cool it down. It’s only gonna get worse.”

Rebekah swings her legs up, plopping her ankles across Grace’s lap. It’s enough to earn a friendly scowl in her direction, and a hand on her calves in a meek attempt to push her legs away.

“Off.” Grace rolls her eyes. “It’s too damned hot for this, get your sweat legs off of me.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.” Rebekah keeps her legs in place, shooting back a challenging glare. “Right?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to make it _worse_ ,” Grace grumbles, but she drops one arm to rest across her legs. “And you are overdramatic.”

Rebekah hums in the back of her throat, letting the conversation die out. She watches the street, cars returning slowly home, children chasing each other on the pavement. The weather has the whole town lazy, dogs lounging in the heat with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, whole families escaping to their porch chairs to sit quietly with their eyes half closed. It’s late summer and there’s a damp weight to the air that makes her want to lean back and sink into something a little softer than sleep.

Eventually, as always, her eyes wander to Grace. The woman has tried to fold her tanned, lanky body into the corner of the swing, but her leg is dangling to one side, as is her arm. She keeps her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she thumbs through the book, a pen in between her fingers. A fly lands on her wrist and she slaps at it aimlessly, missing twice and then abandoning the attempt, allowing the bug to flit around her skin for a moment before taking off again.

“What are you looking at?” Grace doesn’t even have to look up to ask the question.

“I’m bored.” Grace rolls her eyes, and Rebekah swallows a smile. “And you’re doing nothing to help that.”

“I’m not bored, because I’m reading,” Grace mutters. “You should try it sometime.”

Rebekah swings her legs off her lap, and Grace finally looks up at her, shutting her book halfway.

“I don’t mind reading, but it’s too hot to concentrate.” She knows she sounds like a child, but she doesn’t care, because Grace is endlessly and eternally patient. “Let’s go somewhere. Somewhere cool. With ice cream, maybe.”

“You’re a child.” Grace takes the cheap shot, but she also folds down the corner of the page she was reading. “Actually, that’s unfair. You care more about ice cream than most children.”

She hops onto her feet, grinning down at Grace as she extends a hand.

“That sounds like a yes.”

“It’s not a yes.”

“It’s also not a no.”

Grace sighs, rolling her eyes again.

“Let’s go get some ice cream.”

They end up in the same place they always do, a local drive-in three blocks away from Grace’s house, their feet propped up in the front seat of Rebekah’s two-seater convertible. Melted chocolate is dripping down her arm as she fights a losing battle of eating the ice cream faster than it can melt. Grace watches with a smirk coloring her eyes, eating with slightly more dignity from a plastic cup.

They’ve become the axis to one another’s lives over three months of scalding summer heat and long lonesome nights. Nothing about the war has been easy for Grace, but the empty space in her bed and the empty seat at the dinner table have been the hardest, impossible to forget or fill. Still, something about Rebekah’s small smile and chaotic personality has made the space feel smaller, easier to manage in the long days and nights that they fill with mundane chores and complacent bickering.

“I’m thinking of getting a job.” Rebekah says, breaking the comfortable silence. “They’re saying this war could go on quite a bit longer, you know. And there’s places in the factories.”

Grace nods, humming her interest and sucking at her spoon. When she doesn’t respond, Rebekah nudges her.

“You should come with me.” Her eyes are curious, soft. “It would be good for both of us.”

“I’ll have to ask Paul,” Grace says quietly. “He never wanted me to work.”

“I doubt he ever wanted to go to war either.” She flinches at the words, and Rebekah reaches out, pressing an apology into her shoulder with a touch of her hand. “I’m sorry. I just— we have to do _something_ , don’t we?”

Grace nods, and in her silence Rebekah reaches out, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in tight.

“He’s coming home,” she whispers, and Grace nods even more fervently, forcing herself to believe it. “And until then, I’ve got you.”

***  
_2012, bradenton, florida_

The call-up didn't come.

It didn’t come for years. Not after the MAC Hermann trophy. Not after the WPS folded. Not even after she took that first flight to Sweden, watching the only home she’d ever known melt away below her from the window seat of an airplane. It took long enough that she started to wonder if it would ever come. In fact, it took long enough that she stopped wondering and started believing that it never would come.

But it did, finally, as the Olympics swelled in the not-so-distant future, a dream she thought she'd never see.

Christen wasn’t ashamed that she cried when she heard the voice on the other line of the phone. She waited, of course, for the full-on sobs, hiding her mouth behind her hand as she sank to the floor, tears of joy sneaking out of the corners of her eyes as she sat down on the floor of her apartment.

"I'm so proud of you." Kelley's words are warm over the line when she calls, and Christen smiles into them. "This is our year. Power forwards together again."

"Stanford is about to do them dirty," Christen replies. The words reflect a brash confidence that she doesn't quite feel in her chest yet, but when Kelley responds with a laugh and a string of curse-word-infused promises, she starts to feel that same hopeful brightness from her college days.

Kelley runs straight into her arms the second she disembarks from her plane, leaping to tug herself close to Christen and burying her face in her neck.

"Welcome to America, bitch." She breaks apart, gives Christen's ass a hearty slap and flashes a toothy grin. Christen rolls her eyes in response.

"Kell, I've been in America for a bit." 

She earns yet another grin.

"I know, but still."

She drags Christen towards the other group of national team players, mostly regulars. Her chest tightens slightly when she sees a familiar crooked smile from underneath a beanie that seems entirely unnecessary in the warm April weather.

"Toby, you know Christen, right?"

"Don't call me that." Tobin levels an affectionate glare at Kelley before turning back to let that full-on megawatt smile beam at Christen. "Yo. Good to have you back."

She manages a nod in Tobin's direction — and earns a weird look from Kelley for her sudden silence — before she's dragged off to meet the rest of the group. The moment is forgotten quickly enough, particularly in the terrifying awkwardness of Kelley's overexcited introduction to Hope, who raises a delicately arched eyebrow in Kelley's direction as the smaller woman prattles on about their time at Stanford. 

Christen chances a quick glance towards Tobin as Kelley launches into an often-told story from junior year, and catches her eyes straight on. Tobin just smiles, slow and lazy and crooked as always, and Christen flushes, looking back away.

It doesn't take long for Christen's shine to dull. The team itself is excited, moving like a finely tuned machine fully prepared to take home Olympic gold. But the competition for a spot in a forward is hard and, ultimately and unbelievably, _frustrating_.

Christen takes some small relief in seeing that she's not the only one, that Kelley is just as hard-pressed and just as dissatisfied with her own play and her own position. But for Christen, it's still different — Kelley is fighting for a place on the field and Christen is scrapping for a spot on the bench.

This frustration blossoms and blooms, which is how Christen ends up on her ass in the middle of the field an hour after the culmination of the third day of training, rolling a soccer ball between her hands and winding her way through a mindfulness exercise in a hopeless attempt at calming her nerves.

"Yo." The low timber of the voice cuts through her steady breathing, and Christen doesn't have to open her eyes to know who it's attached to. "You got the field reserved or do you mind if I come join?"

The smile filling Tobin's face drops when Christen turns, not even attempting to mask whatever emotions are swelling in her eyes.

"Hey." Tobin crosses the field quickly, dropping the ball she'd tucked under one arm and crouching in front of Christen. "You okay?"

For a moment, she considers honesty as an option, considers shaking her head and admitting that the doubt has returned and that she's unsure if she'll ever wear this kit again. Instead, she nods, choosing silence over the words that will surely tumble out if she opens her mouth. Tobin studies her face for a moment longer, then nods and swings herself into a sitting position, their hips close enough to almost be brushing.

"You're really good, you know," Tobin says after a moment of silence, glancing at Christen. "I mean it. Like, really good."

Christen drops her gaze, studying her hands in her lap. When she doesn't respond, Tobin bumps their shoulders together.

"I mean it." She can feel Tobin's eyes on her, and her cheek burns. "Give-Alex-Morgan-a-run-for-her-money good."

"Shut up." The response comes so quickly that it shocks both of them, and then Tobin lets out a light laugh.

"No." Tobin laughs again, and Christen flushes even more. "No, I'm not going to shut up. I mean it. You're doing better than you think."

Christen doesn't respond again, and Tobin fills the silence.

"Your biggest challenge is in your head." Her voice is low, focused, the way it always is when she talks football. "You hesitate just slightly when you play with us, like you're overthinking everything. You don't do it when you're with your club teams and you didn't do it in college, but here you're off balance and—"

"You watched me play?" Christen cuts her off, the shock lilting her voice up half an octave. "I mean, you—"

"Not just you." Tobin laughs, but there's nothing mocking in her tone. "I watch every team I can. But yes, I've seen you play. You're not the type of player someone like me can ignore."

Christen's face is too red to hide at this point, and she ducks her chin even further.

"Thanks."

"Yeah." Tobin leans in again until their shoulders are touching, tipping her head and staring across the field towards the setting sun. She reaches out one hand, wrapping it delicately around her wrist. "Don't worry, champ. I've got you."


End file.
